


Through the Fog

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fog, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9475985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: Sherlock, John and the London Fog.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the reports of heavy smog and fog in London this week.

Sherlock Holmes had never been afraid of the dark, only imbeciles feared monsters under the bed, or in the closet. As for fog, if you lived in London, you simply carried on. It wasn't really like the movies, with vampires and werewolves waiting to pounce from swirls of vaporous water crystals. Preposterous!

 

Darkness was simply an absence of light, and fog a weather phenomena. Normal occurrences recognized by the rational mind. Why then was Sherlock nearing a panic attack, his breathing labored and his heart threatening to beat out of his chest?

 

The petty thief was barely worth putting on the Bestaff, except that this particular cretin had snatched Hudders purse outside the very door of 221B. 

 

As luck would have it, he and John had just come in from a rare joint trip to the shops, and gave chase. It was dusk, but there had been no tendrils of a fading sunset gold, only the ghostly grey of a sky in the grips of the heavy fog that had shrouded the city for several days.

 

The two men had split up, Sherlock conveniently neglecting to tell his blogger that the thief was wearing toe taps which he would be able to easily follow through the murky streets.

 

It wouldn't do for someone so "ordinary" as John to be the hero returning the prize to their shaken landlady. Naturally, the detective quickly corraled the miscreant turning him over to an officer patrolling the area. 

 

Over the objections of the harried "copper", Sherlock kept the purse. "If you require evidence, contact Inspector Lestrade!" Smug with his success, he turned back towards Baker Street. He would regale Hudders with his brilliance, and enjoy belittling his flatmate, and his funny little mind.

 

It was only as he walked, that he realized how black the night had become. Glancing up, there was no canopy of stars, and the fog had taken the London lights and smothered their glow. Pity the souls who were not well versed in the city's street grids.

 

His sure steps began to falter as he remembered how John had still not completely reacquainted himself with this version of London that differed from his time at Bart's. Which way had his flatmate gone? It was ALWAYS something.

 

Huffing in aggravation at the thoughts interrupting his self praise, Sherlock pulled out his phone to "rescue" the clueless doctor. The screen was as black as the night, not even enough charge to show the low battery display. Unacceptable! 

 

With a few exceptions, tea making being one, Watson could be quite useless. HE should have reminded Sherlock to charge his mobile. The mind palace crackled to life, "Sherlock, did you charge your phone last night like I told you? No, course not. Well, I've got mine. When we get back from the shops, do it! I'm not having you in danger because of a stupid dead battery!"

 

Sherlock began to jog, his eyes trying to peer into the mist ahead. John would be disoriented, perhaps injured. No! How could he be injured? Stepping in front of a cab, falling hitting his head, accosted by another criminal as he wandered lost. John! He had to find John!!

 

As Baker Street loomed ahead, Sherlock ran, ran as if death was at his heels. Two doors from Speedy's, he fell to one knee, shattered. His heart sounds were thundering in his head, and he was being strangled, the icy fingers of the darkness and fog wrapped around his throat like a garrote.

 

He wasn't outside anymore, and someone was holding his hand. He jerked violently, "John is lost, I have to help him!"

 

"Sherlock, look at me. I'm right here, I'm fine. Wake up for me mate, this floor is bloody hard on my leg."

 

The younger man blinked away the cobwebs in his brain. "John you were lost in the fog. I was looking for you."

 

"You were the one lost in a fog, git, outside and in that fantastic brain of yours. When I couldn't call you, CHARGE YOUR PHONE Sherlock, I came back here straight away. The direction I took was a dead end, figured you'd nab the crook."

 

Sherlock struggled to his feet, "You're not hurt?"

 

"Maybe my feelings a little bit, that you sent me on a fool's errand so you could grab all the glory with Hudders."

 

"How did you know that?"

 

"It IS you we're talking about wanker. Come on let's go upstairs and get you some hot tea."

 

"What happened to me, and Hudders?"

 

"You were hyperventilating Sherlock. If you were ordinary, I'd call it a panic attack, but the great consulting detective doesn't panic. Hudders is fine, she's over at Mrs.Turner's for a brandy and some of her "special" brownies. Up we go!"

 

Ten minutes later, tea in hand, Sherlock slumped down in the sofa cushions. "John....I, I..."

 

The doctor took a bony wrist in hand, "Sherlock, you're alright. Just breathe deep and drink your tea."

 

"Of course I'm fine! Don't be an idiot!"

 

"Sorry you ungrateful child. Being out in that mess will be more warm and welcoming than here. I'm leaving!"

 

"John please, don't go. Don't go back out in that fog. I'm unsure about what is wrong, but something is happening to me."

 

"It can bloody well happen to you alone then, genius!" 

 

Curls flying, the brunette jumped to his feet, "Please John don't leave me alone. I don't know what to do or say. I only know when I thought you were lost, possibly hurt, I felt so frightened. God John I was so frightened." In a single stride, the taller man pulled the blogger into his arms.

 

"Jesus Sherlock, you're shaking. We need to get you warm and in bed. I'm going to get the shower hot."

 

"Don't leave me John, I'm sorry for what I did, really. Don't go!"

 

"Promise I'm not going anywhere but to the loo. Can you get undressed while I see to the shower? Good boy. I'll be right here."

 

John wasn't entirely comfortable with looking in on Sherlock in the shower, but he wasn't convinced the madman wouldn't fall in a heap in the tub. When Sherlock emerged in pajamas and dressing gown, he looked like a naughty puppy, tail between his legs.

 

"Here, this is fresh tea with honey and some biscuits, the chocolate one's you hide from me. Not a complete idiot, me."

 

"I've been a spoiled selfish brat. Why are you being nice to me?"

 

"Because I'm inexplicably fond of you Sherlock Holmes, god help me."

 

"I find myself similarly inclined, doctor."

 

"Is that Holmes speak for, you like me too?"

 

"More than I would ever have thought possible. John I hugged you tonight, and it was quite satisfying. This is not my area. What else do people do who are fond of one another?"

 

John paused not wanting to startle the clearly vulnerable man in front of him, then slowly pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips. "This for one, acceptable?"

 

"Eminently. I foresee this requiring hours, possibly days of further investigation. Again, please?"

 

"Happy to oblige, seems I'm going to rather enjoy kissing you."

 

The second kiss was more heated, but followed by a huge yawn. "Lovely, Sherlock. Does wonders for my ego. Hey, I'm teasing you. After the night you've had, sleep is what you need."

 

"Will you stay with me until I fall asleep John? It's odd for me to ask, but I realized, in that fog tonight, how very lonely I was until you came. I felt like I was trapped under a blanket that was crushing me. You were gone, and I was destroyed."

 

"Then we best see I'm here to make sure that never happens. Bed for you now, luv. Shut up! I said it, and you will like it."

 

With the doctors gentle hand carding through wild locks, Sherlock soon fell into a deep sleep, and John stayed. All night, he stayed.

 

Sherlock stirred as John got up from the bed and went to the window. The verdigris eyes took in every inch of the man who had found the heart that Sherlock was sure he had never possessed. Sturdy body, blondish hair, radiant smile and what could only be called dignity and honor.

 

John pulled back the blackout curtains and sighed, "Sherlock come look. What a sunrise, red, purple, orange, brilliant!"

 

"As the sun is wont to rise every day, I have witnessed the miracle before John."

 

"Get your posh arse over here, Sherlock Holmes."

 

Put upon, but resigned, the detective joined the ex-soldier at the window. "Yes John, enlighten me."

 

With a soft smile, John kissed Sherlock deeply. "You see, but you do not observe. Look, luv, the fog has lifted."

 

Suddenly overwhelmed with the truth, Sherlock wound his arms around John's waist, and returned the smile. "Yes John, My John. It has."

**Author's Note:**

> When the fog lifts, our world seems all that more clear.


End file.
